


trash collection

by atramento



Series: three little pigs [3]
Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Adorable, Cute, During Canon, Fluff, Gen, Just Add Kittens, Low Chaos (Dishonored)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-18
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2021-02-22 14:36:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22651561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atramento/pseuds/atramento
Summary: When you adopt one runt kitten... you adopt them all. Farley learns this the hard way.
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s)
Series: three little pigs [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1605268
Comments: 4
Kudos: 9





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [soapwiki](https://archiveofourown.org/users/soapwiki/gifts).



Early in the morning, the crash came first before the howling scream. Everyone awoke with a startle; who wouldn't when in the midst of a conspirator's den?

Havelock's paranoia made him a light sleeper-- he came barreling out, pistol drawn and the hammer pulled back. "Who dares trespass on my property?!" The former Admiral growled, eyes surveying as he passed room after room. "I'll find you!" It was not merely a promise but also a threat Havelock was prepared to make good on. 

The offending noise maker was in the kitchen; Treavor stood in a corner. His rail thin body shaking as he pointed past the broken wine glass to something scurrying around under old leaflets and trash that had yet to be picked up. Havelock scowled and pointed his gun at the shape. 

"Wait! Waaaaait!" Came Emily's small voice from the hallway where she, Lydia, and Corvo slept. "Don't shoot! I think that's the kitten I saw earlier!" Farley blinked and pointed his gun upward.

"Kitten? What the hell is a cat doing in here?" He squinted around at the small crowd. Emily shrugged before kneeling by the shape and gently calling it over. Slowly a speckled kitten emerged, small and shaking as it wobbled over to the young Empress. 

She picked it up and held it up to everyone gathered around. Both Cecelia and Lydia were murmuring about possibly training the kitten to hunt mice, Wallace was consoling his liege-- who was still lamenting quietly over an entire glass of wine _wasted,_ and finally Emily's innocent pleading smile at Havelock. "Can... can we keep her Admiral? Please?" 

Havelock swallowed. If this kitten had gotten into the pub... then it was not mere coincidence that he had found a similar little scrap of fur in here about a week ago. There was a mother cat somewhere in or very near the pub... with two kittens missing. 

"Well alright." Havelock relented with an authoritative glower at Emily. She squealed delightedly and ran back down the hallway to her room, Lydia's room, or even to Corvo's. Havelock knew he had no idea where. "For now only though, till we figure out where these damn kittens are coming from."

"What?" Lydia looked up. "There's more of them?"

Somewhat defensively Havelock shook his head. "Not for now, but if this one's here there's bound to be a litter. You don't find a starving baby animal on their own too often." Havelock figured he was something of an expert on kittens now-- considering the little dark furball he kept tucked away in his own room. 


	2. Chapter 2

After the incident with Treavor and the newly christened Dottie, Havelock was certain to keep a watchful eye around the pub for any more kittens. Not only was it more mouths to feed-- the Admiral felt disconcerted by the fact that his establishment seemed to have so many _holes_ in its hull. 

Many places for cats to come in and birth their litter of young.... or for infested rats sniffling around for their next meal.

Havelock tried not to let it bother him too much-- the more he allowed paranoia gnaw at him, the less he was to be fit for leading the conspiracy. Besides, it was not as if the kittens were a problem for the time being. In fact, they seemed to have boosted morale overall... well, he should say _Dottie_ was acting encouragement.

His own kitten, dubbed Garbage, had not left Havelock's room. His own personal buoy as it were. Garbage was smaller than Dottie. Each mewl seemed to take the strength of his entire body to form. And yet... Havelock felt entirely responsible for the kitten. Never affectionate of; voids no. Just... responsible. 

Just as he was responsible for the conspiracy and for the future of the Empire and its eventual new Empress. There was no denial at play, he told himself. He absolutely did _not_ smile when the kitten wobbled to him nor did he chuckle hearing Garbage give an unenthusiastic noise of protest when Havelock's hands proffered only a tiny bottle to feed him with.

How his old navy fleet members would have guffawed and derided about Havelock and his kitten. 

It was better this way; the sooner he could get used to keeping secrets the sooner he could consider it easier to manage this bunch. No conspiracy ever ran on being open and free with itself after all; if Havelock elected to keep certain things to himself that was fine, he told himself.

Surely every other person in this Pub had their own guarded words-- Martin alone could pen a book of secrets or two. Not that he was as mindless as his predecessor to write any down in the first place.

Thus Garbage was planned to remain a secret. At least, he was planned to be until Havelock came back to his room to find the kitten missing. He could not help but feel a ridge of panic up his spine; where had that damn kitten gone to?! Did Emily find him while snooping about or playing with Dottie? Or perhaps Lydia had decided to clean (or send Cecilia to clean) out his room and had dumped Garbage among his namesake? He hated not knowing. 

He had only had the creature for a few days; a week at best. 

"Admiral? Are you alright?" Good that Emily knew better than to tug on Havelock's sleeve-- she had likely seen him startle from far less-- but she appeared to be concerned nonetheless. He wished he could find consolation in her small, worried face. Maybe Corvo did; this little girl was his reason to keep fighting in this little excursion of theirs after all.

But Havelock counted on Emily to eventually be an Empress instead; Empresses had no time to soothe the ravaged minds of their elders as little girls did. Rather, he needed Garbage back.

He gave Emily a dismissive wave, not intending to bother her with this matter if he did not have to. "I am fine. Simply busy."

So where the hell was that kitten?! Since he discovered him missing yesterday, Havelock had found no clue or sign that the scrawny scruff was even around. This whole silent incident made him a slight resentful whenever he saw Emily and Dottie. Maybe that was why he refused to let Emily help despite the validity of her possible assistance.


	3. Chapter 3

Jealous. He was jealous of Emily and her kitten. Havelock swallowed thickly at this inward admittance, feeling his mouth clear and dry up a little. What listless times these were becoming if he were wringing his hands at her and not their common enemies. All this fretting and quiet fussing over a missing kitten. Did he truly have nothing better to do amid Corvo's enforcing of the conspiracy's will? 

He had not noticed Emily's expression screwing into one of serious consideration. "You don't look fine... you look angry." He resisted the urge for a biting comment and turned to her with a soft sigh. 

"I swear I have been hearing more kittens. But only your cat is around. It's driving me a little up the wall, you see." It was half a truth, half a lie. He heard Garbage's defiant mewl in his head and felt another sigh coming. "If you see any kittens though, come to me immediately." Somehow he doubted though that Emily would find any of these kittens, let alone tell him if she did. 

Her eyes widened in response to his request. "Are we keeping all of them if I do?!" 

"I never promised--" Havelock began, noting Emily's now bouncing demeanor. Mere seconds ago she had been playing at the shadow of being an adult. There was still time for her to grow into the role though; it was not too late for all of the ladies here at the Pub to start tutoring her. 

He rubbed his scarred cheek. "I never promised to. We need to get them out of the Pub before they pose a problem though." Emily's eyes became dull and she looked to the side where Dottie was crawling around. 

"Oh. I just thought... well.. since Miss Cecelia swore she heard another one..." Havelock's eyes widened. "...I guess just Dottie is enough." He did not want to give the girl false hope and yet he himself felt a small bubble of anticipation. Was Garbage still alive? 

He would need to go see Cecelia personally and perhaps find out.

Cecelia could oft be found in a nook or cranny of the Pub seemingly trying to keep to herself. Havelock idly wondered if she ever worked when ordered by Lydia as he wandered around looking for her. He had seen Wallace berate her once or twice for inaction but perhaps the girl was the sort of mousy person that it was just as though she had no presence at all in the buildings. 

Either way Emily had made it apparent that Cecelia had found Garbage and perhaps those other damned kittens lurking about the Pub. "Cecelia!" Havelock's voice boomed through the walls. "Rrgh... where did she go?" He stopped at the bar, turning slowly.

The servants' quarters... he had not been by there yet. Kittens in the servants' quarters was still not ideal; but it was better than kittens in the main hall or in the workshop perhaps. Havelock walked his way towards the towering structures, ignoring the biting wind that buffeted him as he climbed upward on foot. 

"Cecelia...!" Havelock barked again outside the door of the servants' quarters. This time, he heard a soft yelp and the sound of someone bungling around. The woman came to the door and opened it a crack. 

"Admiral Havelock..?" She muttered against the wind. Havelock pushed the door open all the way and she yelped again with a few steps back, holding her hands up almost defensively. "W-wait, be careful..." 

The admiral stepped inside, trailing the cold behind him. He let Cecelia close the door and looked around. "Where are they?" He figured she knew what he meant; and she must have for she immediately crossed in front of him to beside her bed. Without much of another word, Cecelia pulled a small cloth covering from off a box to reveal a mother cat and four scruffy kittens. His eyes narrowed at the tiniest kit huddled against the mother, a dark little fluffball that could barely fit in a regular man's hand, let alone his hand. Garbage...

"I found them huddled, Admiral sir." Cecelia shivered, setting the cloth back down over the box and cat family. "And very cold... I didn't have the heart sir." Havelock grunted, rubbing his chin and pantomiming a serious internal conflict of decision. Despite knowing full well...

...That he wasn't about to abandon Garbage, let alone Garbage's siblings. 


	4. Chapter 4

It was not long before the four kittens and mother had been moved to the main area of the pub where it was warmest. The mother eyed Farley especially long out of the pub’s crew since he seemed hellbent on carrying Garbage everywhere himself. He did not care if any others gave him peculiar looks; he had missed the little scamp in the time departed.

Emily’s eyes wavered among the adults gathered. Those that were able and willing to appear, anyhow. A withdrawn Treavor with steady Wallace acting as his pillar, Havelock himself, Lydia, and Cecelia lingering in the small corners of the pub somehow. 

“Can... can we keep them?” At her words, the adults seemed to bristle. Havelock absolutely hated it. He hated the idea of keeping Dottie and Dipper and no doubt all the other dumb un-catlike names the future Empress would assign those poor felines. Not his Garbage, though. 

Wallace remained silent but Havelock glimpsed him shaking his head softly. The nuts of the guy, to shake his head at the Empress. It was almost a respectable move, save that Emily had none of the power of her crown to power her words. Yet. 

Treavor seemed on the verge of uttering confirmations to the young lady. _Yes, you can keep all these cats, yes you can name all of them. Yes, yes, yes._ Sometimes Havelock wondered if Lord Pendleton’s ‘loyalty’ was an expedient manner of keeping his hide intact. Or maybe he was far too achy from his drinking and just wanted to feed Emily platitudes in the hopes Wallace could retreat sooner and slide him back into bed. 

Lydia was letting her gaze roll lazily between each kitten and the mother cat within the box. Havelock had to admit he was having a harder time reading her expression and intent. It was why he had hired her firstly for the Pub; she had a bit of a steeled expression when she wanted to. 

Cecelia seemed about as hopeful as Emily that they would keep the bunch of them as pets; but then again, in Havelock’s mind sometimes she was hardly older than the Empress. It was the mousy eyes and consistently trembling lips he supposed.

So that left him and where he stood. Initially, he had silently avowed to himself to shelter these kittens and their mother. But seeing the uncertainty etched on his fellow conspirators’ expressions... it was leaving him a bit wistful. They could not afford too many mouths to feed and the plague meant that any of these cats could die or become carriers or endanger any one of them-- 

“Well?” Emily crossed her arms. “You’re all being awfully quiet. Even for, you know, some of you.” Her gaze turned to Havelock and thus did everyone else’s. Dammit child... he wanted just a few more moments of thinking!

He rubbed his chin again and sighed, setting Garbage on the counter. The kitten mewled in objection as he lost the vast warmth and beating heart of his caretaker. “We’ll keep them one night. One. And then we’ll decide what to do with them.” 

Emily and Cecelia’s eyes widened; Emily even had the audacity to smile as though Corvo had come walking through with a double arms’ worth of candied treats for her. Wallace’s lips thinned into a hard line as he tugged on Treavor silently. Treavor, to his credit, kept the same wobbly expression he had shown when first brought out. And Lydia... Lydia raised a brow at him specifically. She would fare better not to question him-- but he could feel the questions coming as old joints feel the rain coming in soon to bear down. 

He held up a hand. “ Only one night. Understand? That’s all the time we’ll need to decide what to do with all of these... cats.” Garbage meowed again, his tiny body shaking as he wobbled over to the source of Havelock’s voice. 

Havelock could not resist the urge to pick the scrap of fur off the counter to hold him closer, which made Lydia’s intrigued expression deepen. He cleared his throat. “You can pick up and pet them all you like, but don’t get too attached now.” 

The admiral wished that Emily’s audible disappointment at facing reality was strong and amusing enough to counter the worrying yet curious stares he was getting-- but it was not. 

In fact, it held the opposite effect.


	5. Chapter 5

Havelock felt disconcerted. He also felt not unlike young Emily; but he should know better than this. Should he not? 

People died. It was a fact Farley was accustomed to. People died and there was little you could do but wash your hands of said person. Maybe make peace with them if they were still coherent. But animals, for all their qualities, were not human. Animals did not always distinguish the same differences that humans did; animals were more _simplistic_. 

And better off for it, Farley might argue with himself and others. Loyal. Intellectual. Quirky... Usually animals fit at best one adjective that colored their entire personality. Timid. Unbroken. Cute, even. 

Animals died eventually though as well. 

The smoke and tar of his cigar mingled uneasily with the pit formed in his stomach. He had a choice to make-- but this one had an entirely emotional slant to it. Either he risked much for the morale of the Pub or he kept the integrity of their operation at the cost of losing a considerable amount of what kept the entire operation lively. 

Damn, he was loath to think of how much more simplistic things could have been. If he had either kept his mouth shut. If he had turned to piracy instead of trying to get this conspiracy off the ground. Here he was instead rubbing shoulders with civil workers, nobles, and overseers; as well as staring down a box of kittens with their mother. 

“Admiral Havelock?” Lydia approached him when the others had scattered about. Cecelia and Emily were cooing over the cats minus Garbage, picking them up and petting. 

“Brooklaine.” He nodded, trying to keep a stoic face as Garbage skittered up his coat mewling. It was very, very difficult not to smile but somehow stone-faced Farley managed. “What do you need?” 

“...I think we both know you want to keep at least one of these kittens, sir.” Her voice, though slightly flickering, remained low and steady.

“What of it?” Havelock countered, tensing slightly. “Even most of the pub seemed to agree that it’s not reasonable.” 

“Most of the pub? It was just Wallace who voiced true displeasure-- but hardly anything makes him happy. Corvo, Callista, Piero, and Martin haven’t even been able to say anything. Lord Pendleton didn’t seem to mind and I--” Havelock held up a hand and sighed. Lydia was trying to corner him into this, but why?

“I don’t appreciate--” He began, but Lydia’s brows furrow and she shook her head. “What?!” Havelock raised his voice slightly. 

_“ You_ want to keep those kittens? You do. The Havelock I know would do this without regret. Without looking back. He’s a man unafraid of breaching the landfront from the sea-- or from taking responsibility for a kitten he clearly cares about and its siblings and mother.” Havelock sighed out the side of his lip gradually. 

Dammit she was appealing to his senses in a way that she must have known would pin his arm behind him metaphorically. 

Havelock sighed again, softly.

“Lydia. Go set them up a spot in the corner of my room.” 

_“Your_ room?” She sounded slightly incredulous at Havelock’s decision.

He smirked at her, as if raring for some kind of challenge. “They’re my cats, aren’t they?” 


End file.
